Recovery is a rainbow
by FrenchCaresse
Summary: Katze has been deeply marked by his role in the extermination of Pets during the Epidemic. Depression and PTSD. Hope. Learning to trust and finding love. Part four of RAOUL'S ARC.
1. Storm

_I am very sorry for the long delay. I had writer's block, then I got distracted writing smut for another fandom and then real life got crazy... Anyway, this is just a tiny start on the road to healing for Katze but after much hesitation, I decided to post it to reassure you guys this story is not abandonned._

* * *

"I want to tank you."

Raoul's Doctor voice was firm and assured.

Katze's Sick voice was just as firm, bordering on despairing, when he refused.

"You are dehydrated, malnourished and exhausted." Raoul argued patiently. "A few hours in a med tank will be sufficient to cure your body."

The gorgeous Blondie doctor was serene, his mouth soft under intense green eyes. He seemed very professional, squatting by Iason's bed to address Katze at eye-level. Trustable.

Katze blinked, biting his lip. He didn't dare to answer, afraid that his tattered self-control couldn't contain the surge of emotion seeing Raoul brought after all those cold grey weeks.

Iason was in the room with them.

Katze shook his head mutely, _no_ : he wanted nothing more than to pull the Blondie he loved closer.

His Master loomed by the foot of the bed.

"Later, we can work on your mind." Raoul's voice was too sacharine gentle and it bugged Katze. He didn't want to be treated like a precious thing because he'd gotten overwhelmed.

Katze pushed himself up on an elbow.

"No." Katze's response was gruff, and more than a little agressive.

Raoul didn't even think, placing a soothing hand on Katze's arm and rubbing gently. Damn the clothing the mongrel still wore, and curse Raoul's own gloves. All these barriers between them were intolerable.

Raoul hurt, to see Katze reduced to a shadow of himself. He wanted to inhale the red-head's exciting pheromones, drown himself in the human's heartbeat and taste his tears. He needed to feel that Katze was alive.

Raoul _would_ stop him from slipping through their fingers.

He couldn't indulge in his forbidden urges though. Katze was broken, for now, and he still belonged to Iason.

Raoul allowed himself another minute or two of self-indulgence, massaging up to Katze's tense clavicule in the guise of a therapeutic touch meant to calm his patient. God, Katze was emaciated. His bones jutted against Raoul's strong hand, bird fragile.

Katze's amber eyes were wide and glittery as he pushed himself to a sitting position, curling in on himself. There were dark purple slashes under his eyes, even more startling over his sunken cheek-bones.

"No hospital." Katze's voice was soft and it retained a hint of his usual quiet politeness. His chin jutted stubbornly though and Raoul could see the pulse beat too fast in his throat.

The golden Blondie looked at Iason beseechingly. A day or two in a med tank would be sufficient to heal Katze's battered body. It would take weeks to attempt to achieve the same result without it, and the succes of such treatment would be entirely dependant on Katze's cooperation.

Riki cuddled closer to Katze in Iason's bed. Katze's heavy head turned on his slim neck. His eyes were dead again, flat orange. His hair was lank and hanging in his face.

Raoul carefully tugged a badly bandaged foot to himself, beginning to unwind the stained cotton mostly for something to occupy his hands with while Riki intervened.

Perhaps Katze would listen to a human.

Riki didn't try to argue with his friend. He spoke one word.

"Why?"

It destabilized Katze, wormed it's way into his walls. Katze fought to remain strong and stubborn, but that one word was fracturing all his defenses.

Why?

Riki cared about the answer. Genuinely cared. What was stopping Katze from answering was the intense curiosity radiating from the two Blondies in the room. He bit his lip, fragile control eroding.

Riki waited. So did Iason and Raoul.

The explanation finally burst from Katze, torn from that aching hollow spot in his middle.

"I don't want to be put in hospital. I don't want to go away."

Katze's words spilled faster.

"I don't want to be put under. I don't..." Katze dug his fingers into the sheets, fighting panic.

"Please." He begged.

"I don't want to be reset. Or..." Katze choked, head bowed to his knees, shoulders trembling.

Riki's gaze darted to Iason, helplessly overwhelmed.

"Or... Or... _disposed of."_ Katze's hand made the automatic move he had repeated so often during the epidemic, plunging an imaginary syringe into his thigh and depressing the trigger.

The movement made his foot twitch, tearing the last of the bandage from the wound in the soft flesh under his plantar arch. The cotton had stuck in the clotted blood and as it ripped away, bright fresh redness welled in fat drops between the curled lips of the deep cut.

Raoul hissed a "Sorry" but Katze didn't appear to feel anything. He was numb. Grey.

He watched the blood quickly form a rivulent, trailing ticklish down the inside of his sole.

Cold. Grey.

Dead.

All the fight went out of Katze, the tension that vibrated in him easing as a crimson stain spread on Iason's bedspread.

Riki's throat knotted at the abrupt capitulation.

Resigned.

Katze had just given up, in front of their eyes.

"I'll do whatever you say." Katze acquiesced. "I'll get put under. I'll go to hospital."

 _Even if I never wake up_ went unsaid but the thought made Riki reach for a cold hand and squeeze hard.

"I know I'm broken." Katze whispered, touching his scar in nervous, unconscious motions.

"I... I can't be fixed, I think."

His face rose to stare straight at Iason, which was extremely unusual for the devout servant. Katze's weary golden eyes brimmed with all the emotion he kept locked away. Iason's own unnaturally blue Android eyes were inscrutable.

Katze's Master. Always. Cold and unreadable.

Blondie.

God, his aristocratic face was beautiful.

Katze looked away. He felt filthy, weak and pathetic. At least his broken heart still beat, blood bubbling up from the wound in his foot with every liquid contraction.

Hurt.

"I don't _want_ to be fixed. It's part of me. All the people I killed, the emptiness that's been swallowing me lately. I want to be better."

Human.

"To be happy." And there was so much wistful longing in his voice that Riki had to wipe tears from his own burning eyes.

"But I don't want to forget." Katze continued. "Please, I... I need help. I'm not useless even if things happened to me. "

Katze's pink toes flexed. It made his cut gape, a fresh wash of blood surging. It was leaking into Raoul's white glove.

"I know that Blondie's are perfect, and that humans, Pets and Furniture are easy to manufacture new and docile." Katze did not notice how Iason stiffened at his words, nor the very un-Blondie startled blink of Raoul's eyes.

"But I still want to be _me."_

Heavy silence filled the room when Katze's outburst trailed off.

Iason cleared his throat. His voice was typically brisk and efficient as he decided.

"Fine. You will be tanked for forty-eight hours." Katze slumped wordlessly, face hidden. Riki's mouth opened to protest as Raoul stood, shining gold hair swishing with the graceful motion.

Iason's blue eyes flashed at Riki and he held up a white-gloved hand to stall any arguments.

"I will have a portable med-tank installed here."

Raoul turned quickly, abrupt about-face too fast to be human that made his hair fly.

"You are sure?" He asked mildly. "The cost is... extravagant... for a mongrel."

Iason snorted in a very un-Blondie way.

His voice was frosty and down-right scarily gentle as he asked "You wish to deny the First One?"

Raoul did not seem very intimidated.

He shrugged, back straight then bowed reverently. "Of course not, Your Grace."

Riki had never heard Raoul adress his brother by his title and he wondered if it was a subtle form of mockery. Iason jerked at the polite response as if he'd been slapped.

"It shall be as you say." Raoul bowed again. He kept his right hand curled into a tight fist by his side.

"I will proceed to make arrangements." The golden-haired Blondie broke from formal etiquette to clasp Iason's shoulder tightly with his left hand. Riki couldn't see either of their faces as they stared at each other, just the back of Raoul's head. He wondered what silent exchange passed between them.

"Do not doubt." Raoul's voice rang too loud, suddenly. He was adressing Katze under the guise of reassuring Iason.

"He will get better." Raoul's hand squeezed Iason's shoulder once, then dropped.

"Trust me." He asked, and Katze shuddered beside Riki.

Katze's eyes shut, as he silently mouthed the word again and again.

 _Trust._

 _..._

Cal watched from the kitchen as Raoul stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. His hair hid his face but Cal hardly thought the Blondie would slip enough to allow his facial expression to change.

The Blondie was a tall imposing figure, utterly motionless for at least half a minute. He slowly brought his right hand to his face, staring intensely as he carefully unclenched mechanical fingers.

The Blondie's pure white glove was stained a wet, clinging red.

Blood _._

Katze's blood.

Katze.

Human _._

Hurt _._

Raoul shook his head and clenched his hand again, hiding the evidence. He was already on the vid-com by the time he reached the door.

* * *

 _Thank you again for your infinite patience._

 _xxx_

 _FrenchCaresse_


	2. Green

_I need to start off with an apology. I could try to explain, or justify, why this story got put on hold but there is really no excuse. Please know that I feel awful for doing that to you guys and thank you for your patience. I debated posting this short intro; I wanted to have the whole story done to make sure I didn't stall again. But I feel you deserve to know I'm working on it again, so in the end I'm posting real time as I finish chapters._

 _This story is an AU of Katze's Verse, which stays true to the original plot. It branches off before Dana Bahn. So no-one is dead and Guy has not kidnapped Riki. In this verse, Riki returned to Iason in exchange for his gang's freedom and they believe him dead._

 _ **Triggering for suicidal thougth patterns**. Let's begin with a bit of Riki closure, shall we?_

* * *

 _Green_.

Riki sat in his chair, watching the light radiating from the med-tank in the guest bedroom.

 _Green_.

The device gave off a soft jade glow that cast elongated shadows on the ceiling.

 _Green_.

Riki shifted, hugging his knees to his chest on the hard chair. Damn, his butt was falling asleep again.

He was here by choice, so he supposed he shouldn't complain. No-one had ordered Riki's silent vigil over Katze's floating body. Riki had set himself up in the corner as soon as Iason had departed for the day. It felt like the right thing to do.

 _Green_.

Poor Katze. Riki's heart ached when he thought of how torn up Katze had been yesterday. At least for now, he slept.

Sorta.

Riki didn't _think_ Katze was aware of anything. The red-headed floated in what Riki knew was not water, even if it might look like it. The clear gel supported Katze's body so that he hung weightless in the middle of the tank.

 _Green_.

Riki looked over his friend, but he tried not to _see_. After hours of guarding him, Riki had gotten quite good at _not seeing_ what he felt he shouldn't.

Watching Katze's unconscious (and naked, so goddamn naked) body made Riki uncomfortable. Katze was normally private and composed: seeing him in this helpless state was unsettling. Wrong. Watching Katze's mobile face expressionless and placid was wrong, and all the creamy exposed skin reminded Riki of a Pet in cryo-transport.

 _Green_.

Riki swallowed, focusing on the phosphorescent glow. He exhaled, trying to rid himself of the notion that Katze was a bio-suspended cadaver.

Katze was not dead. He _wasn't_. Not yet.

Riki got goose-bumps when he remembered how close Katze had come to killing himself.

The guilt of not noticing how much his lover was suffering gnawed at Riki. Katze had seemed tired after the frantic chaos of the epidemic. Riki hadn't thought anything of his quiet friend growing more reclusive. He'd been stupid and self-absorbed, as usual.

Riki hadn't seen Katze in the last weeks, and he realized now that Katze isolating himself should have been a warning sign.

 _Green_.

Riki felt light-headed with relief that Katze had not gone through with his death wish. Katze had friends now, lovers even. At least he'd remembered. In the end, he'd trusted them.

Riki belatedly kept watch, letting his focus blur and the quiet hum of the motor soothe him.

 _Green_.

Peeking through his lashes, Riki took in how gangly Katze was. Without clothing, the already tall castrate was sickeningly thin. There were shadows under every rib and his hip-bones protruded too much. Katze's long limbs floated at awkward angles. Yet it was a pleasing, oddly graceful image; much like the carefully disarticulated poses of Pets in a high-fashion showing.

 _Green_.

Riki didn't concentrate on Katze's face too much. Luckily, the twisting strands of hair that moved like underwater sea-weed tended to obscure his features. Katze's eyes were closed and his jaw hung loosely, the bone structure apparent through his pale skin. Like a doll. Riki resolutely refused to think _dead_. He stretched his legs out, cracking his knuckles.

 _Green_.

Occasionally, a small bubble escaped Katze's mouth or nose. That was _really_ weird. The liquid was not water, and bubbles didn't behave right. The spheres did not rapidly float up to burst at the surface high over Katze's head. Instead, the bubbles behaved as though they were formed in oil. They jiggled and changed shape, elongating into blobs and losing their perfect roundness. They rose much much too slowly in the regeneration fluid, Riki following the lazy trek until eventually he lost them in the shadows of the booth cover. Riki wasn't even sure the bubbles burst. He wondered if they might still all be clumped together at the top.

Riki tried not to think about the gel filling Katze's mouth and ears and lungs because it caused a dreadful queasy feeling in his stomach.

 _Green_.

He blinked, watching how his bare toes were gilded emerald where they clutched the seat edge. He'd seen a green alien once, at one of Iason's soirées.

God, he'd come so far since the slums. It was hard to remember his life before he was Iason's Pet. Vague notions of Guy and hover-bike races and empty days were blurred by stout. Mostly, he remembered the intense driving need to get out of there.

He'd been ready to do anything. Desperation. Or so he'd thought. Jupiter, he'd been so young.

 _Green_.

His first stint as Iason's Pet had been filled with _true_ desperation.

Trapped.

Raped.

Overpowered.

The utter total helpless loneliness that pervaded his existence.

 _Riki had known desperation for real._

It had made him raging mad. So so angry.

Riki exhaled hard and made his muscles relax;he was clutching the edge of the seat and working himself up into a crisis.

No.

It was over. Riki breathed out the rage of _what could have been._

 _Green._

Riki's brain automatically slid his eyes away from Katze's genitals. He knew the castrate was self-conscious of his mutilated organs, and yet he had repeatedly refused to be regenerated. Riki had seen him naked before, even seen him hard. It seemed disrespectful to stare in blatant voyeurism at his defenseless body though.

Instead, Riki took note of how beautiful Katze's delicate fingers were, poised in a lightly curled arc. His fingernails were perfectly smooth.

 _Green_.

Without anything to actually _do_ , Riki found himself thinking of the past. He normally never allowed himself to indulge like this: too many pit-falls of emotional wreckage lay in his past.

Riki's return to Ceres was sharper in his memory than his childhood was, but it wasn't any happier. He'd been miserable, mostly because he'd wanted to fit back into his old life and found he _couldn't_. His edges, redrawn by Iason, wouldn't quite jam into the Riki-the-dark hole he'd left behind. Drinking the days away, petty coups and gang wars; Riki had somehow grown too big for that basic shit. Life as a mongrel had seemed so pointless. Not to mention that Riki was incapable of engaging in any sexual act without flashbacks of Iason's training, so he was immensely frustrated too.

Guy had taken the brunt of his moods. Sweet sweet Guy who loved Riki without question and accomodated him way too much.

Riki swallowed. He was a rat. He didn't deserve Guy's love.

 _Green_.

Riki hugged his knees back to his chest and blew on his bangs. Thinking about Guy made him sad. His childhood lover had been the same as ever when Riki had returned to him. Patient. Dreamy. Understanding. Kind.

They still hadn't been able to make it work.

 _Doomed_. Riki really hated himself for hurting Guy. Their failure was entirely his fault.

Riki had become someone else during his captivity.

Iason's Pet.

He was still angry at himself, if he let himself think. Because the worst thing was that Guy had accepted that fact. He knew Riki was different, even if he didn't understand the details. He _knew_ , and he loved Riki anyway.

Riki blinked against sudden hot tears. Guy had loved him; it was Riki that couldn't love himself.

Gods, how he wished he could have been satisfied by the bland mongrel life and his nice, safe boyfriend. Guy deserved more than Riki lashing out in traumatized reflex.

In the end, Riki had done the best he could; he'd negotiated the gang's freedom when Iason had re-emerged in his life with machiavelic machinations. His freedom for theirs.

Riki gnawed on a his bottom lip, agitated. He _hated_ thinking like this.

He prefered action: introspection was a bitch. But he couldn't seem to help it today, all alone in a dark room. There was nothing else to fucking _do_ , except stare at an unconscious Katze in limbo, fighting to return to his life.

 _Green_.

Riki couldn't think too much, because it woke his agressivity; anger had always been Riki's weakness.

He huffed loud through his nose and forced himself not to dwell on the gaping pit of feeling at his middle. If he let the anger take over, he wouldn't be able to deal with Iason later.

He would unfailingly do, or say, something stupid and that would trigger the Blondie's sadistic obsessin with pain and his need to break his Pet.

Riki's anger always ended in confrontation with Iason.

Iason, who had torn the gauze of his normal life to shreds.

Iason, who was the center of Riki's life.

His Master.

 _Green_.

Their relationship was so goddamn complicated.

Riki sighed.

He might fight it all he wanted, but the intensity of his overwhelming feelings for Iason had been branded into Riki's soul. That first time he'd chanced upon the Blondie emerging from his luxury car after the miserable year in Ceres had quite literally cut Riki's legs from underneath him. It was a good thing Guy had been there to ground him because Riki might have done something immensely stupid in the moment. Like throw himself right off the balcony.

He didn't _really_ want to die, per se, but in that moment he was so filled with hurt and anger and confused longing that he would have done anything to make the pain stop. **Anything**.

 _Green_.

Much like Katze yesterday, Riki guessed.

 _Green_.

Gods, Riki hoped Guy and the gang were doing okay. Probably. They were resilient little shits. Riki wondered distractedly if they'd come to the city during the epidemic. That might be awkward; they were convinced of his death. He'd have to think of asking Katze to check into it.

Katze.

Dear, stoic Katze, who now floated in the phosphorescent green.

He'd changed.

Like Riki.

Riki was settled now. Iason had grown less cruel as Riki collaborated more. Katze had shyly inserted himself into their narrative and it had changed things. A sense of peacefulness at knowing and finally accepting his place; that was Katze's gift to Riki.

Iason's Pet.

 _Green_.

Riki stood, stretching tight back muscles.

He hoped Katze found the same.

 _Gree_ -flash.

Iason's silhouette appeared in the sudden blinding light of the opening door. In an instant, the green was gone: barely a shimmer remained on the polished floor right in front of the pod.

Riki blinked hard, trying to adapt.

Iason didn't even say anything, he simply waited until Riki went to him obediently.

Riki knew that there had been a time when he would have dragged his feet, or been disgusted at himself for obeying a silent oblique request.

But now, Riki went willingly.

He tucked himself against Iason's side, inhaling his Master's android scent.

Iason didn't speak; he just let Riki hold him tight until the tension left his human.

Riki glanced back into the guest room as they left. He couldn't see the med-cube from here, just the faint green glow on the floor.

Jupiter, he really really hoped that Katze would find his own place in the jumble complicated Blondie relationships.

The guest-bedroom door slid shut with a quiet woosh.

...

Raoul was working late.

Most of the fluorescent lights in the laboratory were off. Raoul didn't need them with his enhanced Blondie vision and found it restful to work in half-darkness.

As he efficiently manipulated instruments, Raoul's face was a blank mask. No need to pretend to be human: he was alone. He would work all night, he determined. It seemed a much better option than heading to Iason's to watch a mongrel float in regeneration fluid. The impulse was ridiculous, but it kept intruding into his thought pattern.

Worry.

A dysfunctional human emotion he shouldn't be feeling.

Raoul watched the blue flame race around a circular burner at the pop of a button.

It wasn't as though he would act on his feelings.

Raoul knew his place.

For now, his place was in the lab.

It soothed him to competently manipulate the genetic back-ground of his next lot of pets. Raoul was completely in control here. He liked that.

He wished Katze would let Raoul fix him.

Raoul would try, certainly. But Katze was stubbornly intent on doing things his way, even if it was harder and the probability of success was reduced.

Raoul's hands were steady and confident as he worked.

The double moon-light reflected off the stainless steel counter.

It glinted off the intricate metal of a control ring and reflected in the android's eyes.

 _Green_.

* * *

 _I apologize again for putting this story aside for so long. Expect irregular posts, as usual, but know I am working on it._

 _Xxx_

 _FrenchCaresse_


	3. Blue

_My initial plan was one chapter per color. But I'd forgotten how intense this verse is. And there are only so many soul-shattering truths I can throw at Katze before we both need a break._

 _So enjoy part one of Blue. Cal's time to shine! It's an angsty one._

* * *

 _Blue_.

The first thing that Katze became aware of as conscience returned was the _blue_ that encompassed his whole vision.

As synapses slowly woke, Katze pondered the presence of that _blue_.

It was a lovely blue, actually; a particular shade of luminescent azur he'd seen in the sky on exceptionally clear summer mornings.

A happy _blue_ , vibrant in it's pure intensity.

For long peaceful seconds, Katze idly watched that _blue_.

Self-awareness swelled like the blue sea in lazy waves.

A question dawned in him, bothersome because it prevented full contemplation of the _blue_. What was he doing, really, just staring into that _blue_? Why? Katze knew the answer was important, but he couldn't really be bothered to care.

He lost himself in the _blue_ again.

A black spot flashed briefly, capturing his attention. A blink of midnight grey, towards the middle and a bit to the lower left.

Wha- ?

The little round dot was gone. Maybe he'd imagined it.

Katze's entire existence became _blue_ again.

Then another spot appeared, ruining the moment. The black circle was larger this time, and it stayed, annoying Katze.

It was sullying the _blue_.

All at once, the black hole was haloed by vivid orange. For the first time, Katze noticed a dark purple creeping in from the edges of the blue blankness.

The purple rapidly merged toward the center of his vision, turning the happy blue a roiling indigo that Katze barely had the time to comprehend before a violent green streak tore through the tableau.

And then consciousness kicked in all at once.

Katze realized that the blue tint colored the back of his eyelids. Which meant his eyes were closed, now why...

The idyllic _blue_ incinerated from the center; brilliant white curdling into yellow.

Katze's eyes flew open.

Too many stimuli flooded his brain and it _hurt_.

A rushing sound filled his ears, overlayed by a dull bass pounding.

His heart-beat, he knew instinctively.

The rhythm brutally accelarated. Katze's chest burned. The sensation was acute, urgent and fuck; _he wasn't breathing was he?_

The air hurt his throat when he gulped in a great gasping lungful, grating along his trachea. Katze began coughing, coughing.

He stumbled forward and for one panicked moment he was caught, trapped; sleek bio-glass pressed against his shoulder and banged against his knee in a dull spark of pain.

Just as suddenly, the obstruction disappeared with a woosh. Katze unbalanced, pitching forward helplessly; his skinny torso still convulsed with rough hacks.

He would have fallen too, except suddenly there was a towel, rough against his back and small arms holding him up.

Small arms. Small but strong, keeping Katze upright effortlessly. A melodious voice shushed Katze with words he couldn't understand but the tone was soothing.

Katze forced himself to stillness. He must remain calm and think. He nearly fell, his legs all boneless and jelly-like.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Why couldn't he fucking _think_ , his brain was all scrambled up! The floor was cold and smooth under his feet. The only thought that Katze could form was how he missed the peacefulness of the _blue_.

Finally getting the coughing under control, Katze trembled as panic clawed at his insides.

What the fuck was wrong? _Where was he_? Shit, he didn't even know WHO he was!

Katze gritted his teeth and tried to focus through the swimming adrenaline rush.

Was he in danger? Who was with him?

Katze pushed wet clinging fringe from his face. He tried to see whoever-it-was that was carefully letting go of him. He remained upright, thank god, but his vision was messed up. He couldn't see, fuck, he couldn't _see_! Why couldn't he see? The world pressed around him, a jumble of colors with the edges blurred together. The light hurt his eyes. He blinked, and blinked again; he could _still_ only make out a delicate form with a halo of fluffy hair.

A child?

A child, wearing a pearly grey tunic.

 _No_. That wasn't right.

Connections snapped together inside Katze's murky mind.

Furniture.

This was Furniture. He was at a Blondie's then. Iason's probably.

 _He_ was Furniture. Iason's Furniture.

No. No he wasn't. Not anymore.

A deluge of muddled emotions and memories made Katze shudder. What was Iason's Furniture called again?

"Da-" Katze shut his mouth with a click.

No. No. That wasn't right. Something had happened to Daryl, Katze couldn't remember what but it was important. Katze couldn't talk of Daryl, he couldn't...

Apparently, the Furniture hadn't caught Katze's slip. The syllable had hardly been more than a croak, anyway.

"...atze. Ka... e... Katze. Can you hear me?"

And yes, suddenly Katze could.

So he nodded, tugging the towel over his shoulders.

"It's me. Cal. We're at Iason's." Cal's gentle voice sounded quite relieved that Katze was responding.

"Cal." Katze said. Fuck, his voice was raspy.

He tried to focus his eyes, straining. Tears began to stream down his cheeks and he _still_ couldn't make out much more than vague shapes.

Annoyed, he brushed the wetness away. The back of his hand scraped across bumpy skin on his left cheek and he frowned. Tentatively, he ran delicate fingertips down the healed gash almost reaching his chin, exploring flesh that was still numb from nerve damage that had occured a decade ago.

"They left your scars intact." Cal reassured.

 _Scarred._

Memory of that night returned.

Pain, shockingly bright.

Pain he deserved.

Blood dripping in round circles on a shiny floor.

Iason, eerily backlit by flickering blue light; his electro-lash poised to kill at Katze's carotid artery.

 _Blue_.

Not the happy blue Katze had experienced earlier.

It had been the sickly bluish-green of computer screen radiation that had illuminated Katze's treason.

He remembered the moment with crystal clarity now.

Iason's eyes were blue too.

Icy blue and filled with calculating coldness as the Blondie had nonchalantly decreed that Katze's existence might be allowed to continue.

Katze gasped at the vivid souvenir, soft pink lips trembling.

"It's... it's okay." Cal reassured. "Raoul-Am said the confusion would dissipate in about thirty minutes."

Katze swallowed, wordless.

He felt uncomfortably scrambled, aware that large parts of his normally racing intelligence were missing. It was frustrating because he didn't know which ones. And he didn't know _why_.

Katze stared at the corner of the wall, trying to collect himself.

"Maybe a shower would help you feel better?"

FUCK! Katze nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd drifted, forgetting the presence of the diminutive Furniture.

"Yes." He whispered, following the servant and pretending he wasn't half as bewildered as he felt.

Katze's bare feet slapped the floor with a fleshy sound that was too loud to his sensitive ears, and the red-head realized with a start that he was really fucking wet. And naked.

Fuck.

Katze stood stupidly, grasping at the scattered pieces of his own mind, while Cal busied himself with the taps.

The recessed lights in the bathroom reflected off the glossy tiles and he could barely keep his burning eyes open.

"There you go, Master Katze." Cal straightened and motioned towards the shower.

"Oh." He made an apologetic little sound as Katze carefully stepped under the water, and a few seconds later the blinding brilliance was reduced to a soothing dimness.

"Thank you." Katze said, shivering. Goose-bumps spread over his flesh; the mutiple pelting drops of water overwhelmingly stimulated tactile nerve terminals all over him.

He stood under the spray for an undefined time. His skin gradually lost the raw tingles of newness and Katze felt more and more awake with every passing minute. He began by taking stock of the situation.

He was in Iason's bathroom, showering, with Iason's Furniture. Which begged the question...

"Excuse me, Cal." Katze almost felt like himself as he found that he was capable of speaking like a civilized person.

"Would you tell me where Master Iason is at the moment?"

There. A complete sentence. Satisfaction warmed Katze's belly.

"Of course." Cal sounded pleased that Katze was coherent, his smile creeping into his voice.

"Master Iason is off-planet with Riki for a month or so."

 _Riki_.

More memories sluiced through Katze.

Friendship.

Jealousy.

Desire.

Oh Jupiter, sex. Katze had experienced sexual intercourse. With Riki and Iason. Not Raoul, at least he didn't think so.

His hands automatically fondled his crotch.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he touched the same small penis he remembered. He was still castrated then. Katze was pleased by this, though he couldn't quite remember why. The feeling was little more than vague rebellious satisfaction of clinging to his own identity.

Cal was still speaking.

"It was necessary to reassure our allies that Eos is well and recuperating from the epidemic."

The epidemic.

The epidemic.

The words resonated hollowly in Katze's head and then with a tearing flash _everything_ came back to him.

The epidemic.

Fuck.

The epidemic.

Pets, dying. Everywhere. So many cadavres, piled into haphazard mounds and awaiting cleaning-bots on the stained streets.

Katze sank to his knees with a low moan.

The epidemic.

Non-Pet victims too. The sheer number of casualties impossible to comprehend.

But it was more than numbers for Katze. The epidemic boiled down to fractalized impressions for the leader of the Black Market.

Infinately more personal.

Infinately more horrifying.

The epidemic.

Bodies on the floor.

Convulsing limbs.

Revulsed eyeballs.

Pink spittle and rasping chokes.

Bleating pleas for help.

Katze pressed both of his hands to his own mouth, trying keep the sounds in.

There had been no help.

 _Only death._

Everywhere.

Death, by Katze's hand.

Katze had killed _so many_ infected. Exterminated entire pleasure houses.

 _Load. Bend. Plunge._

 **Repeat**.

Until the last person stopped quivering; until the only sound was the steely rasp of Katze's own breath and the taste of bile in his throat.

Throwing out blood-stained gloves with a wet plop.

Forcing himself upright, making himself face his men. No time for weakness.

Do what needed to be done in the next Pet enclosure. Then the next one. And the one after that.

 _Load. Bend. Plunge._

Repeat.

Katze wept, hands clasped to his face. Kneeling naked under the spray, he shook with sobs as burning tracks flooded his cheeks.

He couldn't help it.

He couldn't stop it.

Confused and alone, Katze cried.

...

Katze was a murderer. An executioner.

 _He'd done what needed to be done. Like always._

It was no excuse.

He was nothing. Nothing but a Blondie's toy.

Guilt gnawed at him, irrational and undefined.

Katze wept.

He remembered now.

...

...

...

Katze wept for a long time.

Finally, inevitably, the uncontrollable tears slowed then trickled to a stop.

He remembered planning through exhaustion so deep it seemed he'd never known anything else, trance-like and sharp-edged. Organising mongrel teams in a desperate scheme that he'd known wouldn't work.

And yet... it had. Somehow, Raoul had produced a vaccine and the mongrels had prevented Tanagura's citizens from starving to death.

The epidemic was over.

Katze was alive.

...

Katze took a shuddery breath, feeling as though he was awakening into himself for the second time in half an hour.

He carefully took stock of his situation. Again.

His knees hurt from the hard floor. His throat was scraped raw. So were his eyes. His hair dangled all over his face in wet rivers.

With effort, Katze got his feet under him and rose to a standing position. He wobbled dizzily, bracing a hand against the wall.

He felt empty, hollowed out by the sudden release of his crying fit.

Uneasy rustling on the other side of the frosted glass reminded him of Cal's presence.

"Sir?" The Furniture's voice was hesitant. "If you would like to wash, I fetched the necessary items for you."

Katze swallowed. He couldn't speak, throat aching and clogged. He tilted his head so that clean water flowed into his mouth, and it was only after a few large gulps that he was able to answer politely.

"That would be lovely, please." Damn, his voice was too scratchy.

He wondered if Cal had witnessed his break-down. Probably.

It was hard to be sure, but he probably hadn't been completely silent, even if he'd tried his best to be. Given how violent the emotions had been, it was highly likely that _some_ sounds of distress had escaped him.

Katze would never know for sure, he guessed. Cal wouldn't voluntarily speak about something so personal and private, and Katze wasn't about ask him openly.

Furniture were trained to be discreet.

Cal was very well trained.

Cal was tactful too, implying that he had left the room. Katze didn't think the Furniture had actually needed toiletries from a different washroom. But the possibility was plausible enough that if he so chose, Katze could believe it.

 _Very_ well trained indeed.

A spindly arm appeared in the shower enclosure, holding a basket with several bottles.

"Thank you." Katze meant to thank Cal for more than the soap and he said the words too warmly, a bit choked up by the Furniture's unexpected kindness.

"You're welcome." Answered the small voice from the other side of the glass wall.

"I'm very glad you're back with us." Cal seemed surprised at his own burst of forwardness, ending in a squeak. Katze was sure the boy was blushing.

"I..." Katze found himself at a loss for words.

"Thank you." He repeated.

...

The familiar motions of washing himself became more confident and efficient with every sudsy swipe.

Katze emerged from the shower to a mercifully empty bathroom, towelling off quickly and began to dress in the clothing left out for him.

He was pleasantly surprised to find a comfortable black sweater and pants set he'd worn many times before.

The delicate tap on the door announced Cal's return just as Katze finished rubbing his hair dry.

"How do you feel?" The Furniture asked, holding out a structured grey half-coat to be worn over the all-black base.

Karze slipped his arms into the jacket and allowed Cal to fiddle with the clasps and high-standing collar. It seemed awkward to have Furniture dress him, but Cal clearly needed the pretext of working to stay in the room and Katze found he very much wanted company.

"I..." Katze pondered the question.

"I feel fine. Physically, I feel more than fine. I feel strong, bursting with energy. I haven't..." Katze faltered.

"I can't remember the last time I've felt this good. Before the..." Katze cleared his throat.

"Before the... epidemic, for sure." Katze pushed the words past the tightness in the back of his mouth and Cal nodded proudly, setting the red-head's shoulder pads straight.

"It's wrong.." Katze tried to explain. "I feel amazing, physically, but inside I'm..."

Dead. His mind supplied.

But...not really dead though. Not anymore and that was the problem.

Gone was the cold absence of caring he had cultivated. Riki had cracked right through the hard shell around the reclusive castrate's heart. And now Katze was mired in emotions.

Caring, love even; rage and helplessness and fear.

Katze didn't know how to deal with the excess, after years of nonchalant detachment.

Damn Riki. The mysterious dark-haired man's very existence was a catalyst. It had transformed Iason, and apparently Katze too.

Katze's fists curled tight.

He wanted to hate Riki, but he couldn't.

Riki might have forced him to get involved, melting his solitary isolation. But today, Katze was choking in feelings that ran much deeper than Riki's influence. Years worth of bottled up self-hatred had been released, acid and destructive.

Kate hated himself. That was the naked truth.

He had spent his entire life hating his Blondie Master; in reality, loathing his own self was what had nearly killed him. He couldn't even properly hate Iason anymore, not after knowing how deeply involved with his mongrel lover the Blondie was.

Katze cleared his throat, willing the pain down. It wasn't as intense as it had been before, tasting of iron like old blood. He could handle this. He was all cried out, disgustingly weak in the after-math and the tears hadn't even made the hurt go away.

Adding a layer of irony, Katze felt... glorious. Strong. Refreshed. Well-nourished.

 _Damn it._

It was hard to explain the dissonance between his emotional and physical state.

Cal patted Katze's coat one last time. When he looked up, Katze realized the Furniture's eyes were a blue so light as to be almost grey. They were long-lashed and unguarded, boldly staring into Katze's. The dealer looked away first.

"It will come. The... emotional healing... will happen too. Raoul-Am said so." Cal stated.

Katze craved a cigarette, suddenly.

Cal's trust in Blondies was cute and innocent. Katze wished he shared it.

Cal surveyed Katze's appearance approvingly, then bent to gather the wet towel.

"You need time though. The med-tank sped up the physical part." He continued.

Katze nodded; he vaguely remembered Raoul's arguments during his final desperate visit to Iason.

"Raoul-Am said you might suffer from intense confusion and raging emotions when you were roused. It... Are you all right now?"

Katze fingered his hair into place, grimacing at the healthy face glowing back at him in the mirror.

"Yes." He answered softly.

He followed the Furniture's side-gaze to a bunched up towel on the counter. Cal immediately tore his eyes away as if burned.

"Cal." Katze said.

The Furniture jumped guiltily, twisting his hands together.

"Cal." The stern tone was instinctive. Katze wasn't purposely trying to scare the Furniture, not after how he'd helped him, but Cal trembled anyway.

Determined, the boy leaned forward and whisked the towel away. Underneath, gleaming on the marble countertop, was a syringe.

Katze stiffened, bracing himself. There was no onslaught of memories though, nothing at all. This was not the deadly cocktail he had used during the epidemic, and his sub-conscious knew it. The shape of the syringe was different, and the content was milky white.

He arched an eyebrow at Cal who stammered "It's a m-mild ssssedative. In case you were out of control and erratic. Raoul-Am was worried, apparently it occurs frequently and..."

Cal straightened. "I'm glad I didn't have to use it."

Katze nodded. He was glad too.

He didn't really want to think about being drugged against his will, so he let the subject slide.

"You are to meet him. Raoul-Am." The Furniture babbled. "At seven, in his office. Since Master Raoul is a physician and Iason is absent, he shall be taking charge of your recovery process."

Katze's heart skipped a beat. _Raoul_.

Emotions skittered just beneath the calmness he'd found.

Katze kept his face impassive, acquiescing mildly.

"I shall attend."

He was meeting Raoul in his office, just like he had all those Wednesdays. Tonight. Later.

Actually...

"What time is it, Cal?"

The Furniture promptly informed him that "It is eleven-thirty on monday."

Which, fuck... what was Katze supposed to _do_ all day? The hours stretched blank and empty.

The thought of returning to his office made a cold knot of anxiety settle in his stomach. And yet, what else could he do? Iason was gone, so he had no orders. He wasn't Furniture, nor Pet. He also had no real notion of what was needed in the Market since he'd spiraled into reclusion after the epidemic.

Cal's warm gaze was compassionate and Katze bristled.

But the Furniture only bobbed in a respectful bow, suggesting.

"Sir, if you like sir, I could accompany you and help return order to your appartment, sir. It has been abandoned for all the days you were in the tank. Longer than that, because before you were... indisposed. I would like that, sir. With the house empty here, I have free time, sir."

Cal was bumbling nervously but the suggestion was a good one.

Katze nodded briskly.

"Fine then. Come." He decided, striding from the bathroom.

The confident gait, spine straight and head high, came without thought. The structured clothing helped, creating a strong silhouette over his lithely muscular frame.

Cal trailed him obediently, apparently not realizing that it was all fake bluster.

Huh.

Katze was still hollow inside, but it was good to know he could fool others into thinking that he was fine.

...

Cal chewed on the inside of his cheek as they emerged onto a street whizzing with air-cars. The Head of Black Market had declared his desire to walk. It would allow him to take stock of how the city was changed by the epidemic.

Poor Katze.

Cal's chest hurt for him.

The dealer was blown-glass-ornament fragile at the moment.

But the fact that he was able to convincingly fake a facade of calm authority was a good sign. His strange amber eyes shone with intelligence, cataloguing the changes to Tanagura's bustle.

At least he was interacting with the world again.

Cal _really_ hoped Raoul-Am would save Katze.

...

Katze's underground lair did needed a good cleaning, it turned out.

The place was not a _complete_ mess, Katze's Furniture training too engrained to allow him to tolerate utter chaos even in the depths of depression. But...

There was a fine layer of dust over the furniture and many scattered trays of cigarettes, each slim tube extinguished after one or two drags. Most of the little food in the refrigerator had gone bad, and the bathroom floor shimmered with broken mirror dust, even if Katze _had_ carefully picked up the larger shards. The water-stained brown board above the sink was an unsettling reminder of the grey despair he'd drowned in and Katze flinched to see it.

The afternoon passed quickly.

Cal and Katze worked fast and well, with a quiet companionship only Furniture could share.

Katze pocketed a pack of cigarettes from the stash in his office, deciding it was time for a break. He poked his head into the living room, intending to warn Cal he was going to the roof. What he found was the small man standing like a statue, staring down at a bookshelf.

When he heard Katze's footsteps, Cal jumped and the metallic clink of Katze's broken Furniture Tag dropping from his fingers seemed too small for it's significance. Shit.

"It's true then?" Cal whispered.

"Yes." Katze answered sharply, cutting off further questionning.

Watching Cal, Katze caught a hint of curious intelligence in his pale eyes; Katze was surprised to see sharp connections creating as rumor crystallized into truth. Presumably, that capacity for reasonning had allowed Cal to rise above the ranks and be selected for training as Furniture.

"You were brilliant, when you were younger." Katze stated.

"In Guardian." He precised at Cal's questioning look.

The answer he got was not the one he'd expected.

"I was... above average." Cal answered quietly. "But I wasn't exceptional. Not like you."

Katze arched an eyebrow.

"You... you're a legend." Cal gushed. "A prodigy. Brilliant. Exceptionally gifted, the likes of which Guardian rarely sees."

Katze frowned. He couldn't understand why Cal would mock him now. The boy seemed earnest enough, features mobile with simmering passion.

Cal gently traced a finger along the dull metal links of Katze's Tag.

"Of course you got selected for Furniture training." The way Cal said it... he made Katze's nomination sound like an honor.

Katze snorted.

"Hooray." He dead-panned.

"I'm an appliance worth less than Iason's refrigerator. Expected to function impeccably and be inobtrusive, until I expire and am replaced with a newer model." Katze's voice was much more bitter than he'd meant it to be, and he realized Cal might actually feel insulted by the words. He WAS Furniture after all.

Cal didn't seem insulted. He softly asked "But didn't you like it?"

"Like being Furniture?" Katze scoffed. "What was there to like?"

"Furniture are objects to Blondies. Trained to know their place and serving only to ensure their Master's every whim. So... dull. I _loathed_ it. Blondies are despicable manipulating robots despite their pretty packaging. They are no better than Furniture, really. Now I know they are just Jupiter's play-things."

"Would you have rather become a Pet? With your looks, you could easily have graced even the most luxurious Elite play-house." Cal seemed genuinely curious.

"God, no." Katze shuddered in revulsion. "Pets are pitiful, used until their bodies break and then discarded."

Cal opened his mouth, obviously going to state the other, _the_ _only other_ , possibility.

"Mongrels in Ceres are even worse, lazy greedy slobs the lot of them." Katze spoke before he did.

The harsh words hung heavy in the air.

Katze had just dismissed all major roles in their society.

It was all so goddamn futile. Just like his existence.

Empty.

Dead.

Useless.

Cal's eyes shimmered greyish-blue, piercing too deep. He blinked.

Katze was short of breath, suddenly.

"So you pulled away from it all." Cal deduced. "Shut down all connection and hope; turned yourself into a machine."

Katze flinched. He _had_ done exactly that.

"But that was later..." Cal mused "When you had risen to the top and still hadn't found what you were looking for. When you were Head of Black Market and lost your youthful ambitions, when success didn't make you happier."

Katze steeled himself, enduring the insightful dissection of his failings. He wanted to squirm, to strike Cal to shut him up, but he rather felt he'd brought it on himself.

"It's no wonder, is it?" Cal bit his lip. "No wonder you rose higher than any other mongrel who ever existed. You never found what you were looking for, did you?"

There was no mockery in his high-pitched voice, only earnest admiration.

"You are... more... than all of us. So much more. You are brilliant, Katze. Gifted. So incredibly beautiful. You have ambition, vision. Courage. Curiosity. You had all that potential. _Of course_ you couldn't be satisfied with a plain Furniture role, even if it was the honor of working for the First One."

Katze's mouth was saw-dust dry.

"Is that..." Katze's voice cracked and he had to start again.

"Is that really how you see me?" He blurted.

It was... pretty much the opposite of how Katze thought of himself.

Katze considered himself broken, half a man. A slave to Iason, continuously trembling in fear.

Unloved and unloveable.

Cal looked straight at him with soulfoul sea-glass eyes and nodded solemnly.

Cal believed it all. Believed in Katze.

Katze trusted Cal; the boy had proved multiple times that he had reliable judgment.

Katze stored the information away for later consideration. Was it Cal's perception that was flawed? Or his own?

"Me..." Cal said, twisting his hands together again in what Katze now recognized as a nervous tic. "I'm not like you. I'm just Furniture. I'm not destined for greatness."

His slim shoulders squared.

"I'm Furniture. I don't _want_ to be more _._ I am happy as Furniture. I like my job. I find satisfaction in the simple things."

Cal's voice grew stronger as he continued.

"I like caring for my charges; Blondies and Pets and guests. I go to bed feeling good, when I know the house is in order and everyone is happy. I _like_ catering to people's needs. I am proud when my meals are enjoyed and there is a thrill inside when I am able to anticipate a desire before it is voiced. I am good at what I do, and sometimes I am appreciated."

"I love my job, Katze. I don't want more. I'm happy in service."

Katze swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

He... wasn't happy. He'd never been. Katze had never taken simple pleasure in what _was;_ he'd always dreamed of what _could be_. When, years later, he _still_ wasn't satisfied, he'd stifled the disappointment. Drawn into himself and purged every last drop of human emotion. Not feeling anything was as close an approximation to happiness he'd found.

Maybe he hadn't been looking in the right place.

Katze sniffed hard, dangerously close to tears for the second time that day.

Clearly, shutting off hadn't worked. He'd been devoid of negative emotion, yes. But he'd extracted all the positive ones too. Drawing himself behind walls had almost turned him into a Blondie.

Katze clutched the door frame.

Now that he knew Iason better, he didn't think Blondies were all that happy. Riki seemed the closest thing to joy Iason derived.

Riki.

Riki had forced both Iason and himself to grow. To be involved.

Katze hurt now, horribly. But maybe, in a way, Riki had saved him too.

Maybe, to be truly happy, Katze couldn't live in a glass tower and feel _less_. He was beginning to think that maybe, he needed to allow himself feel _more;_ to accept the hate and hurt as dark balance to love and laughter.

Katze swallowed again. He would need time to digest the core-shattering revelations.

Cal's gaze was filled with empathy.

His gentle voice was passionate when he affirmed "You'll find it. Happiness. You'll find your place."

"People change. Riki. Iason. I believe they are happy, in their own way." Cal's words lit a spark of hope in the chalky grey embers of Katze's heart.

"You'll see. You'll get there too." Cal promised with youthful optimism. Unless it was wisdom beyond his years.

Katze took a shaky breath.

He hoped Cal was right.

Jupiter, he hoped Cal was right.

"If you want to walk all the way to the med-lab," Cal said after a long silence, "I think you will need to leave soon. Marketplace will be busy at this hour."

Katze bowed in response. He didn't trust his voice.

Katze bowed deeply, _significantly_ , to Cal.

The perfect graceful bend that Furniture reserved for emperors and only the highest ranking Elites.

He heard the boy gasp, but Katze's eyes were swimming too much for him to see Cal's expression.

In the elevator, he dashed at the unshed tears with a trembling hand, composing himself.

He couldn't help but notice that the sky, when he emerged from the shadowy building, was the same brilliant _blue_ as the one that had woken him.

* * *

 _What did you think? I welcome your feedback! Part two eventually coming, featuring our two favorite Blondies!_

 _xxx_

 _FrenchCaresse_


	4. Painting in blue

_Once you diverge from a plan, well it just gets easier and easier to be delinquent, right? It was supposed to be one chapter, one color. Then Katze's introspection wanted it's own chapter. And now there's this other nugget of mise-en-place that isn't Blondie on Blondie like the rest of Blue... I give up._

 _Enjoy some pining Raoul and Katze._

* * *

There were many intensities of _blue_ in his life, Katze reflected as the wind whipped his trench coat on the tarmac.

Waking up in the tank had been a very intense experience, focused on that perfect _blue._ With all of his inner defenses in rubble, Katze had been forced to deeper levels of introspection than he'd imagined possiblr. Through it all, and even after, the _blue_ seemed to permeate his mind. He found hints of the transcendant experience hidden unexpected nooks of his mind. So it was no surprise that Katze had come to associate his various emotional states with different shades of the color.

Katze's world shifted from murkey brownish-blue frustration to soaring pastel azur. Sometimes his _blue_ was lighter, or more saturated. On hard days, the _blue_ was almost greyish-black and troweled on unevenly in frustrated slaps.

Nothing compared to that initial perfect _blue_ though. Nothing could mimic the exhileration of that moment, although his meeting with Raoul that evening had come close.

Katze's first meeting with Raoul had been... eye-opening.

Katze still felt as though he'd just escaped death; come to think of it, he actually HAD. Trying to deal with Cal shifting his perspective on life, he'd been caught completely unguarded by his reaction to first seeing Raoul.

The Blondie had turned from watering the ledge filled with plants in his office at Katze's footsteps. The sun illuminated his strong face and made his phenomenal hair obnoxiously shiny. The wavy curls fell unruly and _glorious_ as usual. Raoul's wide mouth had curled into a little smile at Katze's entrance and his jade eyes had lit with genuine pleasure.

"Katze." He'd rumbled in his characteristic deep baritone.

Katze couldn't stop the swell of emotion seeing Raoul caused, not in the vulnerable state he was in.

Joy. Hope. Trust, absolute complete trust. A hint of curiosity, sexual in nature if he was honest.

Katze took two rushing steps toward the Blondie before he caught himself and stopped in his tracks.

Shit.

Katze blinked, taking a steadying breath.

Damn.

Katze, still shaken up by his earlier revelations, was now confronted with the unsettling reality of his longing for Raoul.

Potential. Companionship. Maybe even the possibility of romantic nonsense like _love_. The thought was infinately thrilling and impossibly frightening.

Katze blinked again.

Well. He was still stripped of his usual defense mechanisms, too in tune with his feelings now.

Experiencing the giddy rush did not mean anything, Katze reminded himself. Already, the initial surge was calming.

Katze was excellent at self-awareness and even more so at seperating his wants from his needs. Now that it was crystal clear to him how he felt about the Blondie, he would simply need to be more vigilant in keeping the feelings in check and not acting upon them.

He could hardly be faulted for being human and having emotions; he might even indulge in bit of idle dreaming of what might be. Katze was almost certain that long as his actions remained correct, there was little Iason would do about a silly crush.

...

Raoul observed the flickering emotions on Katze's face. It was normally quite hard to read the human, but today the castrate was a bit more open than usual. Raoul knew how humans reacted to a stint in a med-tank. Rebalancing the body had a rebound effect on the psyche; the impact of biochemicals and neural PH levels had a fascinating impact on abstract constructs like human moods and such.

Raoul had seen first-hand how unsettling the effect could be, but he wasn't overly surprised that Katze was dealing well. The red-head seemed calm and in control, as usual. He hadn't needed the sedative, or Raoul would have been abe to smell the remnants seeping from his skin pores.

Katze was quiet and reserved, but...

Raoul knew the human well.

There was a slackness around his mouth, reminding Raoul of when he had Katze powerlessly in transe, stripped of conscious control. _At Raoul's whim_.

Raoul banished the inappropriate thought, focusing on dissecting Katze's expression. Hints of emotional turmoil passed over the androgynous face; Raoul noticed a minute eyebrow twitch and the flaring of his delicate nostrils.

There had also been those two spontaneous strides toward Raoul when Katze entered. The anomaly was... worth investigating. It was very unlike the castrate to move unbidden into Raoul's personal space. Except for that one time when Raoul had dropped the dealer unaware into his arms, they both respected unspoken boundaries.

Raoul could see Katze's features smoothing into blankness already, as the mongrel subdued whatever was troubling him. Raoul wanted, _needed_ , to know more.

"Katze?" He inquired, arching an eye-brow and keeping his tone non-threatening.

The dealer blushed. An emotion bloomed in the Blondie in response; _fondness_ , he categorized absently.

Katze chewed on his lower lip and Raoul waited, filing the motion under his growing _Katze_ directory. He would need to try the sensation himself. Perhaps the stimulation eased nervousness in Blondies too? Raoul ignored the urge to mimick Katze right then, saving experimentation for later. It was less easy to ignore the inappropriate urge to use his thumb to dislodge those straight teeth from their hold in the abused flesh.

"I..." Katze brushed his hair behind his ear, unwittingly exposing his scar to the late afternoon sun. "It is nothing. Just ridiculous human impulses... I am still not completely recovered from the tank. Apologies."

"What was your instinct, Katze?" Raoul asked.

He could _see_ the human closing up, so he quickly added. "It is important. For research purposes."

Katze's eyes suddenly jerked up in defiance, limpid amber and unsettling. _Fight or flee response activated,_ Raoul thought. Clearly, Katze was the agressive type in spite of how mild-mannered he usually was.

The mongrel glared at the Blondie and answered gruffly.

"It's stupid. I... I almost hugged you."

Raoul did not like the self-deprecating bitterness he heard in Katze's tone.

"Like I said, don't worry about it." Katze continued. "It caught me off guard, but you are in no danger of me doing any such thing."

Raoul pushed his long hair over his shoulder.

"Humans _do_ seem to appreciate physical contact in times of distress." He mused.

Suddenly, Katze was caught in the full burning intensity of a Blondie's stare.

"I aim to help you. If you would like, I would not be opposed to holding you." Raoul stated.

The violent surge of hope in Katze's eyes was contradictory to his nonchalant shrug.

"For research purposes." Raoul added.

There was a heady, swimming moment of anticipation.

Then both Katze and Raoul stepped towards each other at the same time. Katze had not expected Raoul to move and so they crashed together much harder than he'd planned. Raoul's strong arms locked firmly around Katze, pressing him into the Blondie's side as the human tried to find the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Trepidation bubbled in Katze's veins, and he held himself board stiff. _He was hugging a Blondie, fuck!_ What was he thinking?

When Raoul did not pull away, Katze slowly relaxed.

He was not in any Blondie's arms. This was Raoul. Katze trusted him.

Raoul meanwhile was running all systems at full capacity, registering every novel sensation. The human was small against him, bones bird-breakable even if he was tall for his species.

Raoul suddenly understood Iason's fear of hurting Riki. He felt very protective of Katze.

The red-head was melting against him; his every exhale whispered deliciously, _innocently_ , over the side of Raoul's neck.

Raoul listened to Katze's breathing evening out. He rubbed a gloved hand down Katze's back, since that seemed to encourage the release of muscular tension.

This was nice.

Raoul smiled softly and breathed deep of the unique pheromone cocktail that was Katze. He ran a quick scan of his systems, noting the spike in dopamine and the slowing thud of his own heartbeat. Hugging was proving enjoyable and beneficial, for both of them.

After long minutes, Katze stiffened in Raoul's arms. He was still pressed tight to the android, but he now held himself tensely. Katze pressed his face hard into Raoul's strong chest, almost desperately so.

Raoul's enhanced hearing registered the wet sound of a labored swallow. It was the second time in a row Katze had done this,now why... A sound that was clearly a sob being stifled followed; Katze pulled away abruptly and turned to stare straight-backed out the window.

Raoul let him go. He suspected the human might imminently cry, although he didn't rightly know why. Raoul thought that hugs were appropriate when consoling a crying human, weren't they?

Katze didn't cry.

He spent a minute composing himself; when he turned back to Raoul his sculpted face was smooth and peaceful, if a bit flushed.

Raoul moved to sit behind his desk. He recognized this Katze. This was Katze as he usually seemed on wednesdays, before they started their session. Calm, poised; in control.

"I... " Katze faltered. "I am grateful for your help, Raoul. You should know that I suffer from human failings, though. I... I find myself projecting... sentiment... upon you. I have feelings for you, I think."

Katze sat in his usual chair, staring at his knees. He did not seem ashamed as he quietly laid the truth out for Raoul. The doctor sat frozen in surprise. _No Blondie mind-games._ It was... refreshing.

"I will control myself, of course." Katze continued. "I... Nothing will change between us because of my human weakness."

Katze's hand curled into a slow fist and his eyes hesitantly searched Raoul's face.

"This changes nothing. I just... I thought you should know. For research purposes." He smiled.

Raoul nodded slowly.

Katze grinned wider and Raoul noticed a spark of his usual personality returning.

"I think..." Katze's shoulders cringed inwards but he held eye contact anyway. "I think I won't be hugging you anymore."

Raoul frowned, perfect eyebrows dipping down

"Being physically in contact with you is... nice. But it makes me long of... things that can't be. So it's best if we don't."

Katze trailed off at Raoul's continued silence.

There. He'd said his bit. There was a satisfaction to it, a finality. The ball was in Raoul's court.

The Blondie took his time, analyzing impacts probably reaching farther than Katze could grasp.

"There are... many aspects of humanity I do not understand." Raoul finally admitted slowly.

"It is an omission I would rectify. I would like to learn more. About _you_. About those feelings."

Katze could hardly believe his ears.

Raoul continued, "I... do not think this research will leave me unbiased. Like Iason, I shall adapt my programming as necessary."

Katze gasped. This was... unexpected.

Dangerous.

Possibly deadly, for the Blondie.

"Jupiter..." he breathed.

"Need not find out." The Blondie interjected, and Katze couldn't tell if the statement was a bluff or not.

"But if she does..." Katze insisted.

"It is a risk I am willing to take." Raoul said.

Katze felt like he'd been punched in the chest. Again. This was pretty much Raoul admitting he was willing to die to pursue a relationship with Katze.

"Iason..." Katze whispered weakly; his final, his last defense.

Raoul leaned over his desk and his gloved fingers gently nudged Katze's chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"We have time. I will handle Iason." His voice vibrated with confidence and _this_ statement, Katze believed.

His fragile heart gave a hopeful leap.

"First, we must make you better." Raoul said, sitting back.

He steepled his fingers under his chin.

"If we are being completly honest, you should know that I hardly believe myself to be most qualified individual to help you in matters of feelings. Perhaps we could find a human doctor who..."

Katze shook his head vigorously.

"No." he said.

"But..." Raoul began to argue.

"No." Katze announced firmly. "I... I trust you, Raoul."

And for better or for worse, that was the truth.

...

There were many ups and downs, during the following month. Many tints of _blue_.

Katze came to Raoul almost daily. It was been excrutiating, actually.

They talked about Katze's shit.

Raoul wanted him to put names on his feelings, to express clearly why he reacted in the way he did. It sucked. Deeply.

Raoul was recording it all, Katze thought, a study in dysfunction.

Some days, talking helped. Other times, Katze became angry or too close to tears and he couldn't, _just couldn't..._

Blondies were sooo irritating. When Katze wanted to feel sorry for himself and curl into a ball, Raoul would pronounce the session over.

Until the next day.

Katze would scrape himself together as best he could, stubbornly refusing to give up. He cried, alone in his appartment. Katze cried more in one month than he had cried in all his fucking life. He wasn't convinced the tears helped anything, but he couldn't seem to stop them.

Raoul could hardly advise Katze on how to deal with emotion, but he _was_ a good listener.

He was learning too.

Raoul got better at knowing when to push and when Katze was nearing breaking point and needed a break.

It was clearly tough on the human, sluicing through years and years of repressed pain. It was like pulling scabs, opening old wounds that pulsated and leaked fresh blood. Raoul highlighted Katze's determined courage in his report.

There were a few days when Katze just couldn't, _couldn't_ bear to rip himself apart anymore. Raoul talked more then, lectured him on botany and genome manipulation. Katze grasped parts of it, but mostly he just let the sound of Raoul's voice wash over him, a comforting blanket of sound. It was almost as nice as hugging.

Katze wasn't sleeping so good, haunted by memories of trauma and nightmares pulled straight from the epidemic. By the third week, his poor nights were beginning to take a toll on his stamina. Katze had taken up his old job in the illegal market the week before. Surprisingly, his men were unfazed by his disappearance. Apparently, there had been rumors spread that Scarface had been wounded in the epidemic. Katze did not correct them. His second-in-command was all too happy to give up responsability and there were many interesting avenues to look into with the sudden legalized influx of mongrels.

Raoul tutted and watched the bags growing under Katze's pale eyes.

He was hesitant to skip their sessions, but clearly it was too much. Heavy emotional work and too much stress from all the details that needed seeing-to in the market and insomnia, all at once, was detrimentary to Katze's progress.

"This won't do." Raoul stated, when Katze slumped into his office and dropped exhaustedly into his chair.

Instead of initiating a session, Raoul whisked out of his office and before he quite realized what had happened, Katze was settled into the Blondie's guest bed. Raoul used hypnosis for the first time since the epidemic, sinking a willing Katze deep into restful transe.

Sleep. Glorious, deep, undisturbed _sleep_.

The next morning, Katze was forced to admit that he felt incredibly better. He wondered what the sleep-over meant for their relationship. Was this doctor's concern? Or more? Was Katze reading intentions into the situation that Raoul did not have?

It turned out that the night Katze spent at Raoul's meant nothing.

Raoul simply nodded and declared he would see him in his office that evening as he left for work.

...

Having Katze sleep at his appartment had been a mistake.

Raoul had managed to brush it off, but in reality he was quite bothered by the thought of having Katze, not in the guestroom but _in his own bed_.

No.

Not now. The temptation was great, but the doctor wanted to do things right.

Raoul must speak with Iason first.

Raoul did not think his own self-control was good enough to prevent further development if the boy was living with him. _Gods, how Katze fascinated him._

It seemed that just when Raoul thought he understood him, the mongrel did something unexpected.

Raoul had a secret. He'd indulged, that one night Katze had stayed over. He had spent the entire night observing the human, peacefully trying to make sense of the myriad facets that made up Katze's complicated personality. Even less comprehensible were his own reactions to Katze.

At four in the morning, Raoul had given up understanding and simply basked in the steady sound of his human's breathing.

...

Katze was a bit behind and to the right of Raoul, just as protocol dictated. The silent descent of the intergalactic shuttle whipped the air around them, tugging at Katze's short hair. Raoul superbly ignored the wild movement of his golden locks, standing unmoving with his reflective glasses on. He was not wearing his usual tunic, instead decked out in full formal robes of a deep navy blue.

It was... fitting, Katze thought as he stepped on his cigarette. Raoul was like his own personal master artist. Raoul had somehow almost managed to blend all of Katze's _blues_ into a coherent painting. Katze felt more stable than he ever had. He felt... ready. Hopeful. It was time for more.

The pneumatic door of the craft wooshed open, and Space-tech Furniture raced to position an air-escalator.

Iason.

Katze felt a stab of unexpected anxious fear at the regal sight of the First One. Damn. He'd forgotten about the intensity of Iason's hold over him. Katze swallowed hard. He'd been stupid. Nothing would ever happen between him and Raoul.

Fuck.

As Iason, tall and haughty, drifted down the escalotor, Raoul turned his head a bit. Just a tiny rotation. Enough to catch Katze's eye. The Blondie did not seem impressed by Iason. The corner of his mouth curled up slightly and he nodded minutely.

 _Leave Iason to me_. Raoul had said. _I can deal with him_.

He'd meant it, apparently.

Katze squared his shoulders and waited for his boss to arrive.

Hopeful blue butterflies beat behind his ribs.

* * *

 _Getting better from depression and PTSD takes much longer than a month IRL. But we don't have med-tanks and Blondies and I couldn't really plausibly have the First One gone for a year, so... Katze is on the road to recovery, Ai no Kusabi time._

 _The return of moderately sexy times coming up next!_

 _xxx_

 _FrenchCaresse_


End file.
